Nova
by SunsetDoorways
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HIATUS Nova is silent and scared when she is rescued from Marius' estate and only allows the two silent Knights near her. What will happen when she has to team up with one of those two in order to save all the others? R&R!
1. Waking Up

**Chapter One**

_Waking up__  
_

"Lancelot!"

Sir Gawain stood in the older knight's doorway, leaning casually against the door frame.

"Come on, Lance, Arthur needs us at the stables!"

Hearing only a muffled response from a half-asleep Lancelot, Gawain shook his head and continued down the hallway, waking up each Knight in turn. After Sir Lancelot's room came Sir Bors', though the hefty Knight was only there when Vanora kicked him out of her tavern for excessive drinking. The next room was Sir Dagonet's and, lastly, Sir Trsitan's. Sir Galahad had the room between Gawain's and Lancelot's, so he was already awake.

As Gawain opened the last door in the Knight's hall, it was no surprise to him that the room was empty. Tristan was always the first one up in the morning. Smiling at his own forgetfulness, Gawain turned to look down the hallway as all the Knights made their way out of their respective rooms.

Galahad trudged towards Gawain carrying his trusty sword, a glare plastered across his youthful face.

"This had better be important, Gawain!" He mumbled, angry at being awoken so early.

Gawain merely smiled and said nothing as the youngest of the Knights walked past him. Dagonet was the next to emerge and he followed Galahad down the stairs, giving Gawain a salute with his large axe in passing. Lancelot dashed into the hallway and rushed past Gawain, belting on his two short swords as he went. The last Knight came stumbling out of his room, holding a hand to his head and groaning.

"Come on, Bors!" Gawain urged, "No time to waste, Arthur needs us!"

Bors growled some unintelligent profanity in Gawain's direction and followed all the other Knights down the stairs, nearly falling headlong down them in the process. Letting out a huge sigh, Gawain went down the stairs, taking them three at a time in his haste. He reached the stables after everyone else, and found that Arthur had already begun explaining the plans for the day to Lancelot, Galahad, Dagonet and Bors. Tristan was nowhere to be seen, as was customary for the scout.

"After we escort him here," Arthur was saying, "we will meet with him in the Great Hall and you should all receive your papers by this evening."

"Finally!" Bors growled.

"I've waited too long for this day." Lancelot commented, not quite looking at anything in particular.

"What are we standing around talking for?" Gawain queried as he joined the little group, "Let's get our horses and go!"

Arthur smiled, "I couldn't have put it better myself, Gawain!"

* * *

So, what do y'all think? Do I need to change any scenes, add any dialogue or details of anything?? Are the different Knights portrayed like they should be?? Please DO let me know! This is my first FanFic, so I'm really anxious to hear what y'all have to say about it. Thanks! 

-Anna 


	2. The Actions of Companions

**Author's Note: I changed some things in this chapter, so I hope y'all like it.**

To Ysolde: I hope you like what I changed. You'll probably notice that Tristan doesn't say quite as much as I originally had him. Thank you very much for all your awesome input, please keep on telling me what needs to be changed.

-Anna

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_The Actions of Companions_

The hawk circled high above Hadrian's Wall, only a mere speck in the clear morning sky. A sharp whistle echoed in the stillness and the hawk answered with a piercing cry. Tucking its wings in close to its body, the hawk dove down towards the origin of the whistle, coming to rest on the outstretched arm of its friend and trainer.

The man stroked the hawk almost reverently, allowing a small smile to flit across his normally somber countenance.

Sensing the presence of other people close by, the man turned and saw Arthur and five of his Knights riding out of the gate and heading in the direction of the main road. The six men were riding in a column, two wide, three long. Arthur and Lancelot were leading the little group with Dagonet and Bors coming after them and Gawain and Galahad bringing up the rear.

As they passed a small group of village women on the road, Lancelot flashed his award-winning, albeit, falsely bright smile at one of the girls. Galahad spoke up from the back of the column and the man with the hawk could only just catch the gist of what he said. Something about Lancelot needing to think about other things besides bedding women.

Lancelot put on a mock hurt expression and responded swiftly.

"At least _I_ get them!" He practically shouted at Galahad.

Galahad turned a dark shade of red and Gawain quickly put up a hand to interfere.

"Stop bickering, lads! Just because Lancelot gets more women _to_ his bed, it doesn't mean he's any good _in_ it!"

At this, all the Knights, save Lancelot and Arthur, burst into laughter.

Bors held a hand up to his forehead, still laughing along with the others. "My poor aching head!"

Lancelot refused to acknowledge the fact that anything was in the least bit humorous and glared daggers at Gawain and Galahad. Arthur merely smiled and looked across the field. He sighted the man with the hawk and raised a hand, beckoning the man to come towards them. The man let out a sigh that was only loud enough for the hawk to hear.

Lifting his arm into the air, the man gave the hawk a little boost into the sky, watching as it soared over the field. Adjusting his curved sword on his back, the man whistled for his horse, using a lower whistle than the one he had used for the hawk. The horse, which was cropping grass some two hundred feet away, lifted its head and trotted over to its owner. The man mounted swiftly and nudged his horse in Arthur's direction.

--------

"Ah, Tristan!" Arthur motioned to the silent scout to come closer. "I need you to scout on ahead and find out exactly where Bishop Germanus' caravan is."

Tristan nodded in reply, his braids covering his face momentarily. Turning his face away from Arthur, the scout let out a sharp whistle.

"Must you be so loud?!" Bors complained.

Tristan ignored the bigger man and turned his attention to the hawk that was coming to rest on his arm. He whispered something to the bird, which caused it to take off into the sky, flying high above the road.

Arthur looked at Tristan quizzically. "What was that all about?"

Tristan shrugged, "She will find them."

Bors snorted derisively, "As if your hawk's got the brain's enough to find a_worm_ let alone a _caravan_!"

Both Arthur and Dagonet gave Bors warning looks, but the hung over Knight paid them no attention. Tristan ignored Bors' comment, completely shutting out the Knight's traditional argumentative morning state. Within ten minutes, the Knights heard a screech from above them, making Bors cover his ears. Instinctively, Tristan raised his arm and soon felt the familiar weight of the hawk resting upon him. The hawk made several muted noises, moving her head up and down or side to side, in response to Tristan's whispered queries. The scout released the hawk into the air, yet again, and faced Arthur.

"Five miles."

Arthur nodded.

"Until what?" Galahad wanted to know. "Five miles until what, Tristan?"

"Until we reach the caravan, Galahad." Arthur replied for the scout, "We'll meet up with them five miles down the road."

"How can you so easily believe a _bird_?!" Bors interjected, his hangover getting the best of him. "Especially one that belongs to a man who is so stuck on himself that he hardly speaks a word to any human being, and who is so obsessed with killing!"

Immediately, the small column of Knights halted and all of them stared in shock at Bors. All of them except Arthur and Tristan. Arthur glared at Bors with obvious anger showing on his face; Tristan merely looked away, an unexplainable emotion darkening his brown eyes.

"Bors," Arthur began, his voice dangerously quiet. "I think–"

"I'll handle it, Arthur." Tristan interrupted, in a voice that was rough from disuse. He turned in his saddle to face Bors, his face now completely devoid of emotion. "You have no right to imply things about someone of which you know so little. You know nothing of my past or my reasons for hardly speaking to anyone. I only kill to defend myself and my friends and have been doing so since I was barely big enough to hold a sword. You, of all people, should understand that."

Tristan turned his horse sharply and rode off down the road, in the direction that Germanus' caravan was to arrive from.

"You owe Tristan a_very_ big apology, Bors." Arthur told the large Knight, his anger still evident in his blue eyes. He trotted his horse after Tristan with Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad in his wake.

--------

Dagonet stayed back with Bors, disappointment etched onto his rough features.

"How _could_ you?" Dagonet asked after a moment of silence, "How could you say something so completely cold and heartless to Tristan of all people? Although we have spent these past fifteen years with Tristan, we know virtually nothing about him and we are the last men on earth who should judge him for his actions. I do hope that you listened closely to Tristan's words, Bors, he will not be so eager to speak so much again."

Bors made no comment; he only stared at the back of his horse's ears in silence.

"Most days I am proud to call you my brother, Bors." Dagonet continued, "Today is not one of those days."

Bors' bald head shot up and he stared open mouthed as Dagonet rode away to join Arthur.


	3. Running Out of Time

**Well, here's the next installment! Enjoy and please DO tell me what you think! Constructive criticism welcomed!  
**

_Shannon Vega_-Thanks for the awesome review, I'm glad you liked it and that I'm doing well with the characters. Have fun reading this chapter!

_Homeric_-Thank you also for your input, enjoy this chapter, I'll have the next one up soon.

Thanks to all of you who aren't the reviewing type. I know you're out there and thanks for reading even if you don't want to review!

-Anna

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_Running out of Time_

It was dark. So dark and so _very_ cold. There was no fire, no blankets, no source of warmth at all for any of the prisoners. The monks that ran the place, the ones that tortured 'in the name of God', forbid any type of comfort for the 'heathen rabble'. The fact that only three of the prisoners were still alive had escaped the monks' notice, so enveloped were they in their 'extermination'.

Guinevere shivered in the cold dampness of her cell. Her fingers had been bent in a grotesque direction and it pained her to move them, but she knew that she was better off than the other two prisoners. The other Woad who was in the cell on her right had a badly injured arm among many minor injuries and the girl in the cell on her left had far more injuries than the two Woads put together.

"Guinevere?" A child's pained voice called out to her from the darkness.

"What is it, Lucan?" Guinevere called back to the boy whose cell was to the right of hers. "What is wrong?"

"They are coming."

Guinevere shivered again, but not from the cold. Every time the boy mentioned anything about the future it scared her a little. She would never completely understand how a boy of his young age (she guessed him to be about nine years old) had been gifted with Sight into the future. Guin shifted in her small cell, trying to look through the bars of her door to see what Lucan was talking about.

"Who is coming, Lucan?" She asked after a moment of searching the dark hallway. "The monks?"

"No." The boy replied from the other side of the stone wall that separated the cells, "Not the monks. Other men, men like _her_."

Guinevere knew exactly who Lucan meant by '_her_'. There was a girl imprisoned in the dungeon with Guinevere and Lucan, but she was not Woad like them. Guinevere always thought the other girl was Saxon, but the girl never said a single word about anything, ever. She was always silent when the monks took her out of her cell, silent when they tried to beat information out of her, and silent when they brought her back. The only time that the girl had ever spoken had been the day that she arrived. It had been scarcely three days after Guinevere and Lucan had been imprisoned that the other girl had been dragged in kicking and thrashing like a wild thing, refusing to be imprisoned willingly. She had been shouting at the Roman guards that had held her, shouting in some language that neither Guinevere nor Lucan understood.

But, once the girl had been locked in her cell, she had shut her mouth and had said nothing more except for one word to Guinevere. Guinevere had gotten curious about the new arrival whose cell was on her left and had asked her many questions. The only question that the girl had answered was what her name was.

"Nova." That was all she had said and then she had returned to her silent self.

_Nova_. Guin thought about the name. It certainly was not a Woad name or a Roman one, either. That left only Saxon.

_Well, I suppose she could be from somewhere besides Britain._ Guinevere thought. _I wonder why and how she came to be here. I do wonder what language she was speaking. It was not the language of the Woads, or the language of the Romans. If she is indeed Saxon, then we are better off to die here than being freed and killed by the Saxons that come to free her._

"Lucan?"

"Yes?"

"When are these men going to come?"

The momentary silence was broken by Lucan. "They will be arriving in three days to free us all."

"Are they Woad, Saxon, who are they?"

"That I did not See." Lucan's youthful voice was hoarse and strained. "We must rest if we are to survive until they come."

"Yes." Guinevere agreed with the boy, "That we must. Thank you Lucan."

Unbeknownst to the two Woads, Nova had crept closer to her cell's dividing wall, and had listened in on the entire conversation. She started at the sound of the monks coming down the hallway and shrank back into the farthest corner of her cell. The monks stopped at her cell and hauled her out, claiming to 'finally break the heathen'.

As Nova was being pulled along the hallway, she looked back at Guinevere and Lucan and spoke to them in the Woad language.

"We are running out of time."

Guinevere and Lucan knew that they couldn't argue with the strange girl's words.


	4. A Word Called Trust

Finally Chapter 4 is up! I'm sorry it's taken me so very long to get this up for y'all. Enjoy and leave a please review to tell me what you think.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers (all 14 of y'all): Shannon Vega, homeric, megan, LadyMiyu, Ysolde, Scottishgal12, emzy, MJLS, dayamiracle, THE DEADLY ANGEL, Cassie08, Liz, Dannylionthe1st and Phantom's Ange. 

And very SPECIAL thanks to Ysolde, Cassie08 and Liz. Thank y'all SO much for the awesome reviews and input!

**Now, here's the chapter... **

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_A Word Called Trust_

It took Arthur only a matter of minutes for him to catch up to his Scout.

"Tristan?" He called out cautiously.

The Scout slowed his horse, acknowledging Arthur's presence, but said nothing.

"Tristan, there was no call for Bors–" He broke off when he saw Tristan's face darken slightly.

Arthur looked at Tristan for a moment. The Scout's eyes conveyed what his shadowed face concealed. 'You're better than that, Arthur', the brown orbs seemed to say.

"Fine then." Arthur conceded and rode ahead with Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad.

Tristan was about to turn all his attention to the task of scouting when he heard hoofbeats coming up behind him. Without turning to look, the Scout knew who it was, just from the heavy breathing of the rider's horse. The rider came up next to Tristan and turned his head toward the silent Scout.

"Listen, Trist."

Tristan shook his head at the Sarmatian healer, and abruptly turned his horse's head.

"I'm not going to apologise for my brother's actions, Trist." Dagonet reached out and quickly grabbed Tristan's horse's reins to hold him back. "I just wanted to tell you that I talked to Bors and he'll be apologising on his own before too long. He just needs to think it over and let his hangover wear off first."

Tristan inclined his head ever so slightly to show that he was listening, but said nothing.

"It's just that, well," Dagonet scratched his head, trying to think of the best way to say what he was thinking. "Bors doesn't understand. He can't comprehend not taking part in conversations, not openly enjoying yourself. Bors is a very friendly, outgoing sort and he can't seem to ever get along very well with someone who isn't. He just doesn't _get_ it. He doesn't know what you've been through; none of us really do, but him least of all. And he doesn't see a need to have to listen to and take orders from someone who seems to hate life."

Tristan looked at Dagonet with a strange light in his normally dark eyes. "I do not hate life, yet I do not fear death."

"I know that, Trist," Dagonet assured the dark Knight. "But to someone who lives for the moment, like Bors, your dark, private, keep-to-yourself demeanor gets to him. He's gotten used to a little of that from me, but he still doesn't like it. I'm just telling you how it is with him, so you might better understand his actions."

Dagonet paused and smiled slightly, running a hand over his shaven head, "Although, from all the observing that you do on a daily basis, you probably figured that out a long time ago, didn't you?"

Tristan just shrugged noncommittally, though Dagonet could see the slight humour in his eyes. The Scout was never very talkative with anyone, but he seemed to open up a little to both Arthur and Dagonet.

"I'll leave you be now, Trist, expect Bors to talk to you tonight."

And with that parting comment, the healer of the Knights rode off, leaving the Scout to ponder in silence what had just transpired.

--------

The images that Bors' words had conjured up in Tristan's mind were not images that he wanted to remember. Death had been the Scout's constant companion since he had been young and it was nothing new to him to have people hate and fear him because of it. When Tristan had been only six years old, both of his parents had died of mysterious causes. At least, they had been mysterious causes to everyone _but_ Tristan. Tristan, although he had been so very young, remembered every detail of his parents' death.

--------

It had been an extremely cold winter in Sarmatia and it had turned many honest men into petty thieves. Famine does horrible things to those that are unprepared and causes them to do rash and sometimes horrible deeds to those that _are_ prepared. Such was the case with Tristan's family.

Tristan's father was, by preferred choice, a hunter and trapper and, consequently, he had enough meat and furs to care for his family throughout the entire duration of the harsh winter. When Spring was only about a month away, a threesome of apparently homeless and starving men came to Tristan's family's house seeking shelter from the weather. The men spent several days at the house, acting as pitiful and needy as they looked. But Tristan, even at age six, could tell that something was amiss.

Tristan had, after all, been trained by his father in the ways of reading people and situations and his naturally more quiet nature helped him to blend into the background and merely observe the actions of those around him.

It was the fourth night after the men had shown up and Tristan had just climbed up to the loft above his parent's bedroom to go to sleep. As the lanky boy lay there on his blankets, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Hearing an unusual sound coming from the room next to him, Tristan quickly grabbed his bow and quiver, and quietly crawled through the rafters until he was above the main room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tristan's father asked, his hand going instinctively to the curved sword at his waist. He was in the main room of his house and two of the three men that he had invited in and cared for had cornered him with drawn swords. He looked around quickly, almost frantically, but could not see his wife or young son anywhere.

"What have you done to my family?"

One of the other men grinned wickedly, "We have done nothing, yet. But I would advise you to remove your hand from your sword."

The man motioned to the other. The only door that led outside was thrown open and Tristan's father stared in shock at the scene before him. His wife was being held by the third man who held a rusty dagger to her throat.

"Now," the first man took a step closer to Tristan's father. "We have a proposition for you. And it would be in your best interest, not to mention your woman's, to listen closely to what I have to say."

Tristan's father nodded curtly.

"I'm listening." He said quietly, his brown eyes hiding his desperation and anger. He knew that his son had hidden himself somewhere, and he could only hope that it was a safe place.

"We're going to take anything we want from your home." The man stated, "Including your woman."

Tristan's father stiffened and his eyes lingered on his wife, "And what do you expect me to do, stand here quietly and let it happen?"

The leader let out an eerie cackle and pointed his sword at Tristan's father, "I expect you to do just that. And if you don't, then both your woman and that brat of yours will be killed right before your very eyes before you are also disposed of. What do you say to that?"

Tristan's father hung his head as if in defeat, but, had the other men been able to see his eyes...

"Well?" The leader was getting impatient.

"I...cannot." Tristan's father whispered.

"What? What did you say?"

Tristan's father raised his head and stared at the leader, a look of fiery vengeance seeming to flow from him. "I cannot." He repeated, his quiet voice echoing in the still room. "I cannot–I will not–just stand here and let you take everything that I hold dear."

As his final words faded, Tristan's father drew his curved blade, and waited.

"You are more stupid than I thought!" The leader growled. He lifted his hand to signal to his men and several things happened at once. The man who held Tristan's mother slit the woman's throat and let her drop to the ground; Tristan's father let out an animal-like roar, easily dispatching the first man who came charging at him; the man who had killed Tristan's mother suddenly fell to the ground, an arrow between his eyes.

"Father!" But the warning shout came too late.

Tristan's father turned just in time to see a sword thrust into his chest. His eyes widened and he looked up, past the man who had stabbed him, at the figure of his son in the rafters.

"Tris...tan." He spoke in a harsh whisper. "Sho...ot..." He fell backwards, sprawled next to his dead wife.

Tristan had heard what his father had said and he had also seen what his father's charcoal eyes had conveyed to him. He raised his bow and sighted along his arrow with tear-filled eyes.

"For my parents!" Tristan whispered through clenched teeth and released the string, watching as the leader of the men crumpled to the ground. The boy quickly slung his bow over his shoulder and hurriedly made his way down from the rafters and onto the ground.

"Father! Mother!" Tristan dashed towards his parents and knelt down at his mother's side, gripping her hand tightly.

"Sh-she's...go-ne..."

Tristan barely heard the words that came breathlessly from his father's mouth. He gently laid his mother's hand on her stomach and scuttled closer to his father. He stared down into the charcoal depths of his father's eyes, willing him to stay alive.

_If only for a little longer!_ He thought frantically.

"T-trist..." His father suddenly gripped Tristan's hand, and his words rushed out in a hoarse, barely perceivable whisper, "My son...find your Uncle...tell him your mother...and I got sick...trust him to care...for you... promise me...promise me you'll go to him!"

Tristan nodded through the tears that poured unbidden down his face, "I promise, Father."

Tristan's father smiled briefly and gripped his wife's cold hand with his free one. "Live on...my son..." He uttered and his grip on Tristan's hand relaxed.

After a moment of silent grieving over his dead parents, Tristan stood and wiped his eyes, the knowledge of being completely and utterly alone burning in his mind. He dragged his parents' bodies to a deep ditch and rolled them into it, covering them with any loose stones that he could find, the ground being too cold for him to dig a proper grave. After that task was complete, young Tristan managed to pile the dead bodies of the three men in the yard and set fire to them. He watched the flames leap and dance with a completely passive expression on his face, his eyes dry. No more tears would come from him.

So he lived by himself until Spring was in full swing, and the weather decent enough to travel in, when his uncle and aunt suddenly showed up at his house. They soon came to realise that Tristan was all that was left, though the boy himself hardly spoke a word to them.

Tristan took what little belongings he had, which included his father's sword, and went to live with his uncle and aunt for the next three years of his life. He was treated as the household servant, doing whatever his uncle, aunt and younger cousin commanded and if he ever gave any sort of indication of disobeying, he was severely punished. But the boy took everything in stride, keeping any and all emotion locked up within him and spending as much time as he could on his own in the surrounding forest.

When Tristan was nearly ten years old an unknown illness struck his uncle's family and within three months his uncle, aunt and cousin were taken to the earth, leaving Tristan on his own once again.

At this point in his life, Tristan was used to taking care of himself and he preferred the peace and solitude of the forest and its creatures to whatever company his fellow humans might give him. He was looked upon as an outcast and as a "bad omen" and the majority of the village ignored him, making signs against evil whenever they saw him. None of the villagers had ever learned the truth of the passing of Tristan's parents and they believed that Tristan himself had called down the sickness that had struck his other relatives. They had no love for the lonely, strangely silent boy and he, in turn, had no love for them.

Tristan lived by himself in the house that his uncle had left behind, using his bow and natural hunting instincts to catch any food that he needed. When his clothing and shoes wore out, he cut his uncle's extras down to size to fit him, though they still hung loosely on his small frame. Every day, rain or shine, the boy would take up his father's sword and practise with it. During this time, no wolf or any such predator came near the village and what the villagers didn't know was that their safety was due solely to Tristan's swordsmanship and bow skills. Tristan himself had no interest protecting the village or its human inhabitants; he only killed the wolves to perfect his weapon skills.

The autumn after Tristan turned twelve was the autumn that the Romans came. He knew that they were in the area long before anyone in the village got even the slightest inkling, but he paid the Romans no mind and didn't even bother to warn the villagers.

_Let them find out when they may._ He thought, starting to pack up his few belongings. _They will be glad to see me go._

Within an hour the Romans rode into the village and the villagers themselves were in a mild state of panic. Mothers clung to their children, hiding in the darkened doorways of their houses, while the fathers stood outside, guarding their families and eyeing the Romans with little to no respect. The leader of the Romans looked around at the fearful villagers, his face creased in a permanent frown. There were only two boys who were supposed to come from this village, he hoped that they might be better than some of the others he had picked up. Continuing to look around the village, the Roman's gaze rested on the lone boy who stood in front of a small house at the edge of the trees. The boy's brown eyes held no emotion whatsoever; he merely stood there, holding a sword, a small bag of belongings, and a blanket, with a bow and quiver slung across his back, staring at the Romans.

"You, boy!" The Roman called to him, "Come here."

Making no sound on the freshly fallen leaves, the boy walked towards the Roman, coming to a halt ten feet away.

"Your name." The Roman commanded.

"Tristan." The boy replied in a quiet, rough voice.

"Where is your father?"

"Dead."

A slight flicker of emotion swept across the Roman's face, but was quickly erased and replaced by the man's usual calloused indifference. "Come with me." It was not a command but a request and Tristan recognised it as such, nodding once in reply.

"I had planned on it." He replied, only loud enough for the Roman to hear.

"Have you a horse?"

Tristan nodded again and gave a low whistle. A fine mahogany gelding came trotting up to him, nuzzling the boy's shoulder affectionately. Tristan lifted the blanket he had been carrying and arranged it on the horse's back, laying his bag across its shoulders. Untying a length of rope that was wrapped around him, he attached an end to each side of the horse's halter. He held the sword in his right hand and jumped up easily onto his horse's back one-handed.

The Roman looked at Tristan for a long moment, silently studying the slightly-built boy who sat so straight and easy on the horse. Tristan stared right back at the man, managing to mask the slight nervousness that he felt. The Roman looked away and swept his gaze around the village again. None of the other boys looked big enough or hardy enough, and they were all so young.

"Just this one will be enough." The Roman told the villagers.

A noticeable sigh could be heard and several villagers began voicing their opinions on the Roman's choice.

"Please, take him!"

"Rid us of that boy!"

"Prevent him from haunting us!"

The Roman scowled at the villagers and turned his horse, motioning for his men and the small group of boys, including Tristan, to follow him. They rode out of the village at a steady lope and the Roman called for Tristan to join him at the front of the group.

"Why does your village hate you so?"

"It is not my village." Tristan replied, "They do not understand."

"What?" The Roman asked, "What do they not understand?"

"Me."

The Roman was silent, thinking. After a few minutes he looked over at Tristan, nodding his head to the bow that was strapped across the boy's back.

"Can you use that?" He asked.

Tristan nodded, "Would I carry it otherwise?"

The Roman couldn't help but chuckle. He was starting to like this boy, who reminded him of his own son back home. He thought for a moment longer, observing Tristan's every move and remembering the quiet boys actions back in the village.

"You will make a fine scout someday." He whispered, only loud enough for Tristan to hear.

Tristan merely shrugged but said nothing.

"You will learn to trust me, boy." The Roman commented, noticing Tristan's aloofness and unwillingness to talk.

"But will _you_ learn to trust _me_?" Tristan asked in a barely audible voice.


	5. Woads, the Wall and Why?

Well, here's Chapter 5 y'all! I hope it was worth the wait. I'll be getting into the good stuff in the next chapter.

**Thanks to my new reviewers: **_redrose7856_, _Angel of the Night Watchers_, and _Lee's Ghost_

**Special thanks to all y'all who have this story on your favourites and/or alert list:** _Phantom'sAnge_, _Angel of the Night Watchers_, _AnimeOtakuBara_, _Cassie08_, _Dannylionthe1st_, _ExtremeAngelxJeffHardyFan_, _Katrien_, _LadyMiyu_, _Lee's Ghost_, _LiL Army Wolf_, _OperaAngel_, _THE DEADLY ANGEL_, _Scottishgal12_, _Shannon Vega_, _TiffanyBlu_, _Timeless Rose_, _WickedMagic_, _WintherRose_, _airis-mcs_, _dayamiracle_, _graceygoose_, _h sloanx16_, _i can't believe i'm alive_, _jalapeno1011_, and _redrose7856_. I'm honoured to know that so many people are enjoying my story.

Here's **more thanks** to all you readers out there who aren't bothering to review. As much as I'd LOVE ya'll's reviews and opinions, I love the fact that y'all are just there, boosting up the hits on my story. 2213 hits before adding this chapter.

Thanks y'all and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Woads, the Wall and Why?_

The shout of "Woad!" from Gawain brought Tristan back to the present and he looked around quickly, taking in the scene at a glance. The Bishop's caravan was under attack. Five soldiers were already down from Woad arrows and at least fifty other Woads were beginning to stream from the surrounding forest. As the rest of the Knights, led by Arthur, charged down the hill to the Bishop's rescue, Tristan pulled out his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Loosing that arrow, he fired three more in rapid succession, while galloping down the kill to catch up to his companions. He fired two more arrows just as he reached the battle and then glanced around him, taking in where all the other Knights were and what they were doing.

Lancelot had jumped off his horse and was fighting on the ground; Dagonet had jumped from his horse, falling into the nearby stream and taking two Woads with him; Arthur was still atop his white horse, fending off the Woads who surrounded him; Gawain cut his way to the Bishop's carriage and had only just reached it when a Woad suddenly landed in front of him on his horse. They fought desperately for a moment, falling off the horse and onto the ground and Tristan had only just found an opening to fire an arrow at the Woad, when Galahad rode by and did the honours himself.

'The lad's good, when he puts his mind to it.' Tristan thought, as he fought off several Woads who had approached him. He easily dispatched those Woads and then dismounted and drew his sword in one swift movement. Two Woads charged at him, one from each side. He cut the first Woad in half and, using the momentum from the first swing, he turned the blade and took a step forward, decapitating the second Woad. The Scout waded into the sea of Woads, his sword seeming to have a life of its own, gracefully turning this way and that. A shimmering beacon of death to any and all Woads that it met its finely-sharpened edge.

Finally all the Woads had been killed, save one. Tristan watched, emotionless, as Arthur let that final Woad go and marched straight to the carriage.

"You make killing look so easy, Tristan." Galahad commented, riding up next to the Scout.

Tristan merely shrugged, wiping Woad blood from his sword and calling for his horse with a low whistle.

Arthur approached the carriage and reached for the curtain to look inside.

"Don't!" Bors spoke up, "It's a bloody mess!"

Arthur ignored him and looked anyway. There in the carriage sat a man dressed in finery, leaning up against the back wall. Everything about the man seemed natural except for the arrow stuck in his throat. Arthur stepped back from the carriage and glanced at Gawain.

"He's dead." Gawain stated, frowning, "I didn't come to protect a dead man."

"That's not the Bishop." Arthur replied, looking around at the remaining Roman soldiers. One of them, a slightly older man looked down at Arthur and smiled.

"Arthur Castus!"

Arthur smiled back, "Bishop Germanius. Welcome to Britain. I see that your military skills still prove useful."

The Bishop laughed lightly and dismounted from his horse, "Old tricks, my friend." He looked around at the group of Knights, one eyebrow raised. "These are the great Sarmatian Knights?"

Arthur nodded and then motioned to the carriage where two soldiers were removing the dead man's body.

"Please, Bishop, we must get you to the Wall safely." He glanced uneasily out at the woods and called out, "Tristan, ride on ahead!"

Tristan nodded once and turned his horse away down the road.

Arthur walked with the Bishop to the carriage and held the curtain open for him. "We will protect you, Bishop." Arthur promised.

"I have no doubt, Arthur." The Bishop replied, smiling, "I have no doubt."

-------------

A while later they reached the Wall and came to a stop in an inner courtyard. The Knights dismounted and a man came forward to gather up the horses.

"Jols." Arthur called to the man, "Leave the horses and lead the Bishop to my quarters."

Jols nodded and did as he bidden, letting the Knights care for their mounts. A short while later, after the Bishop had had a little time to get settled in, Jols came to escort him to the meeting room. The Bishop left the room first and his servingman stayed back to whisper instructions to Jols.

"When everyone is seated, my master must be seated last and at the head of the table."

"Your master can plop his holy ass wherever he chooses." Jols retorted and walked away down the hall after the Bishop.

They reached the meeting room and the servingman blanched. "A _round_ table?!" He spluttered, looking with incredulity at Jols.

"Arthur says that for all men to understand each other, they must first be equal." Jols replied, hiding his smirk.

The servingman only stared at Jols for a moment before going to stand behind the Bishop's chair.

"I was given to believe that there were more of you." The Bishop commented, looking around at all the empty seats.

"We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop." Arthur replied.

"Ah, that's right." The Bishop nodded, "Arthur and his Knights have served with courage, to maintain the honour of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory. Rome is most indebted to you noble Knights. To your final days as servants to the Empire."

"Day." Lancelot corrected, "Not days."

The Bishop only smiled and motioned for everyone to sit. After all the Knights were settled in their chairs, the Bishop continued.

"The Pope's taken a special interest in you. He inquires after each one of you, and is curious to know if your Knights have converted to the word of Our Saviour or...?" He left the question hanging, looking at Arthur.

"They retain the religion of their forefathers." Arthur replied automatically, "I have never questioned that."

"Of course, of course. They are Pagans." The Bishop stated.

The Knights just looked at each other and either nodded accepting the fact or shrugged noncommittally.

"For our part, the Church has deemed such beliefs innocence." The Bishop continued, looking again at Arthur, "But you, Arthur, your path to God is through Pelagius?"

"He took my father's place for me." Arthur explained, "His teachings on freewill and equality have been a great influence. I look forward to our reunion in Rome."

"Ah." The Bishop had a look of slight surprise and disgust on his face which soon dissipated. "Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation. You are a hero. In Rome, you will live out your days in honour and wealth." He paused, "Alas, we are all but players in an ever-changing world. Barbarians from every corner are almost at Rome's door. Because of this, Rome and the Holy Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefencible outposts such as Britain."

At this, all the Knights stood looking at each other, unbelieving, as the Bishop continued, "What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore. I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."

"Saxons?" Arthur asked, surprised.

"Yes." The Bishop replied, nodding, "In the north a massive Saxon incursion has begun."

"The Saxons only claim what they kill." Lancelot pointed out.

"And only kill everything." Gawain added darkly.

Galahad stared at the Bishop incredulously, "So you would just leave the land to the Woads." He stated. "And I risked my life for nothing."

"Gentlemen," The Bishop skillfully changed the subject, holding up an opened wooden box that held six small scrolls, displaying them for the Knights, "Your discharge papers with safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire."

Galahad's eyes gleamed as he took in the full meaning of what the Bishop had said.

"But first," The Bishop kept going, "I must have a word with your commander. In private."

"We keep no secrets." Arthur told Germanius, who promptly slammed the box closed, the sound echoing around the room.

"Come." Lancelot told the other Knights, "Let's leave Roman business to Romans." He lifted his goblet, taking a sip and watching the Bishop the entire time.

"Let it go, Bors." Dagonet clapped his brother on the shoulder and walked out of the room with Tristan and then all the others. They made their way to Vanora's tavern, where most of them started drinking, making toasts to the end of their service to Rome.

"Anyone want a drink?" Vanora asked, coming up to the table where Lancelot was playing dice.

Lancelot pulled her onto his lap and asked, "When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me?"

Vanora sighed, slightly exasperated, "My lover is watching you." She told him, slapping him rather lightly and standing up to pour drinks.

Lancelot just smiled at her an looked up at Bors, who stood glaring at him but could do anything because he was holding his youngest child.

Gawain and Galahad were having a knife throwing competition, using an upturned chair as a target. Gawain had already thrown his knife, it was stuck in the leg of the chair and now it was Galahad's turn. He sighted at the chair, aimed his knife and threw. The knife hit the chair leg four inches above Gawain's and Galahad smiled brightly, thrilled that he had actually hit the target. Suddenly a knife flew by on the left side of his head and embedded itself into the end of his knife's handle. Galahad whirled around and faced Tristan who was nonchalantly munching on an apple.

"Tristan..." Galahad began, shocked.

"How do you do that?" Gawain asked, genuinely curious.

Tristan took a bite of his apple and then used the apple to point at the target. "I aim for the middle." Was all he said.

Before Gawain could reply, a chant began.

"Sing! Sing, Vanora, sing!"

"Alright, alright." Vanora consented and the crowd fell silent as she began.

"Land of bear and land of eagle

Land that gave us birth and blessing

Land that calls us ever homewards

We will go home across the mountains

We will go home, we will go home

We will go home across the mountains

We will go home singing our song..."

The Knights stood, or sat, transfixed by the power of the words that Vanora's clear voice sang to them.

"Hear our singing, hear our longing

We will go home across the mountains

We will go home, we will go home

We will go home across the mountains..."

"Arthur!" Jols suddenly cried out, spotting their leader on the edge of the crowd.

"Arthur!" Some of the other Knights joined in raising the pitchers and goblets in Arthur's direction.

"You're not completely Roman yet, right?" Galahad asked.

Arthur said nothing, only waiting the the Knights to gather around him. Once they were all there he raised his voice and said.

"Knights, brothers in arms, your courage has been tested beyond all limits."

"Yes!" Bors agreed.

"But I must ask you now for one further trial."

"Drink!" Bors suggested and he and Galahad laughed, but Arthur ignored them, continuing with what he was saying, "We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted."

Gawain, Galahad and Bors only laughed, not believing Arthur's words and still, Arthur continued on.

"Above the Wall, far in the north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders are to secure their safety."

"Let the Romans take care of their own." Bors broke in.

"Above the Wall is Woad territory." Gawain added.

"Our duty to Rome," Put in Galahad bitterly, "If it ever was a duty, is done. Our pact with Rome is done."

Bors spoke up again, "Every Knight here has laid his life on the line for you." He pointed at Arthur, "For you. And instead of freedom you want more blood? _Our_ blood? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours?"

"Bors!" Dagonet interjected, stopping his brother's ranting.

"We leave at first light." Arthur explained, "And when we return, your freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honour."

"I _am_ a free man!" Bors yelled, causing his baby to start crying. "I will choose my own fate!"

"Yeah, yeah." Tristan commented, still eating his apple, "We are all going to die someday. If it is death from a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home."

Galahad glared at Tristan, his eyes blazing, "Listen, if you're so eager to die, you can die right now!"

"Enough!" Lancelot came between them and held Galahad back, "Enough."

"I've got something to live for!" Galahad finished, shaking with rage.

"The Romans have broken their word." Dagonet said, looking around at each of the Knights, "We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough." He turned to go and looked at his brother, "Bors, you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming!" He shouted, "Can't let you go on your own. You'll all get killed! I'm just saying what you're all thinking!"

He went and followed Dagonet and Tristan out of the Tavern and towards their rooms.

"And you, Gawain?" Arthur asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.

"I'm with you." Gawain told him, nodding and glancing at Galahad, "Galahad as well."

Galahad stood staring, open-mouthed at Gawain for a moment, before throwing his pitcher on the ground and storming off, followed by Gawain. Galahad marched to his room, unaware of anyone or anything around him, in his half-drunken rage.

"Galahad..." Gawain began, once they reached their rooms.

"No!" Galahad didn't even look at him, "Just no!"

He entered his room and slammed and locked the door behind him. He let out a long groan and collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes immediately.

"Why?" He muttered.

That was the last thing he thought as he fell into a troubled sleep.


	6. To the Estate

**Chapter Six**

_To the Estate_

Early the next morning, the Knights all made their respective ways to the stables. Tristan was the first one there, as usual, with Galahad as a close second. The other Knights, including Arthur, showed up soon after and began sharpening swords and warming up their horses. The Knights paid no heed to the Bishop as he came in with his servingman.

"Horton." The Bishop began, clearing his throat in an attempt to get the Knights' attention, "Horton will accompany you on this journey as an ambassador from Rome."

The Knights stared at Horton, Bors shaking his head in disgust, but they said nothing.

"Jols." Arthur commanded quietly, "Find Horton a horse."

Jols nodded and walked off to get a horse, not even waiting to see if Horton was following. After everyone was ready, they set off, leaving the stables and then leaving the Wall altogether.

"It's looking to be a nice day." Galahad commented as the Wall disappeared behind them, "Hopefully it'll stay that way until we get back."

"I wouldn't count on it." Lancelot told him, glancing up at the clear blue sky, "It wouldn't surprise me if it was raining by tonight."

Galahad looked at him and shook his head, "You just have to ruin everything, don't you?"

"I'm only being realistic about it." Lancelot countered.

"Can't you be more optimistic?" Galahad asked.

Lancelot grinned, "Only if it's realistic optimism."

Galahad rolled his eyes as Lancelot rode up to Arthur laughing.

The rest of the day went quietly enough and as night started to fall, they came up to a forest. Tristan came back to the main group from scouting ahead.

"We need to go straight through." He told Arthur, "No stopping."

Arthur nodded and started forward, motioning for the others to follow. Clouds had been gathering slowly during the afternoon and as the group entered the forest the rain started to fall. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the forest path and the rain came down in a rush. The Knights kept on, regardless of rain, managing to keep their horses calm as thunder crashed around them. Horton jumped every time the lightning flashed, but he managed to keep up with the Knights, despite his growing fear. And then, as quickly as it had come, the rain stopped and they were out of the forest. They rode a bit further until they reached a much smaller group of trees and Arthur commanded them to stop.

"We'll stay here for the night." He told the Knights as he dismounted, "And we'll reach the estate in the morning. Gawain, first watch."

"See?" Lancelot commented to Galahad with a knowing smirk, "I told you."

Galahad just ignored him and wrung rain water from his cloak.

-------------

Tristan was on watch in the morning when Arthur woke up. The leader of the Knights packed his things silently and then odd a ways from the rest of the Knights for his morning prayer. By the time he returned to the camp, all the Knights were awake and saddling their horses. They mounted up and ate breakfast as they headed out, Tristan riding point. Within minutes it began snowing. Lightly, but snow nonetheless. After about an hour's worth of riding, they broke out of the cover of a sparse forest and were immediately confronted with the enormity of the estate. Arthur rode up to the front of the group, leading them up to the gate.

Tristan looked around him as they walked their horses towards the gate, noting that all the servants, the villagers, the common people, were housed in dilapidated huts _out_side the wall, while the main house, Marius' mansion, was safely secured _in_side, with plenty of Roman guards to defend and protect it.

"Who goes there?" The call came out from the wall.

Arthur held up his hand to halt the Knights and looked up at the guard who had challenged him. "I am Arthur Castus. I come from Bishop Germanius."

An older-looking man, who was noticeably very well taken care of and dressed in typical Roman attire, suddenly made an appearance on the wall top, looking down on the Knights with obvious disgust.

"We have no need of you here." He told them with a falsely bright smile, "Be gone!"

Arthur stared up at the man, undeterred. "We have been sent here by the order of Bishop Germanius to escort Alecto to Hadrian's Wall."

The man stared back, "And what does the good Bishop need with my son?"

"The Pope wishes that Alecto come to Rome. You would be wise not to go against the Pope's wishes."

Marius scowled and nodded. "He will be out in a moment."

Arthur nodded in reply and then looked around at the villagers who had begun to crowd around. He noted how malnourished and pitiful they all looked, especially considering how much excess weight Marius had. As Arthur looked around, he spotted an elderly, bony, man chained by his wrists to a pole on the edge of the row of hovels. He scowled and dismounted from his horse, turning to the villager who was closest to him.

"Who is he? Why is he there?" Arthur asked, motioning to the chained man.

The villager hesitated and glanced around fearfully, swallowing before replying, "He's our village elder. He wasn't going along with everything that Master Marius wanted."

Arthur's scowl only deepened and he reached for his sword that was fastened next to his horse.

"Arthur!" Lancelot cautioned, but Arthur ignored his friend and pulled out his sword. He stormed over to where the old man was chained and brought his arm back. Ignoring the stares and murmurings of the villagers, Arthur swung his sword, breaking the chains that held the man up.

"Help this man!" Arthur shouted at the villagers, who all looked at each other, hesitant. "Help him!"

A few village women came forward to help and Arthur turned to the crowd.

"Now hear me." His voice carried, even though he spoke rather quietly. "A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one. Those who are able should gather your things and begin to move south to Hadrian's Wall. Those unable, shall come with us." He turned to the village whom he had spoken to before, "You, what's your name?"

"Ganis, sir." The man replied.

"Ganis, get these people ready."

Ganis nodded and started to help the other villagers as Arthur went on his way, back to the horses. Barely fifteen minutes later, a row of mostly packed wagons were lined up on the road leading out of the estate. Tristan rode in from scouting and stopped his horse next to Arthur's.

"They have flanked us to the east." He reported, motioning with his hand in the respective directions, "They are coming from the south, trying to cut off our escape." He looked straight at Arthur, "They will be here before nightfall."

Arthur's jaw clenched, "How many?"

"An entire army."

"And the only way is to the south?" Arthur questioned.

The Scout shook his head, "East. There is a trail heading east across the mountains. It means we have to cross behind Saxon lines, but that is the one we should take." The Scout fell into his usually silence, waiting to hear Arthur's reply.

Drums suddenly sounded in the distance, echoing through the mountains. The villagers, Roman soldiers and the Knights all looked around nervously.

"Arthur." Lancelot spoke up, "We're never going to make it with all these people."

But Arthur wasn't listening. He and Tristan were both paying complete attention to the proceedings of two very bedraggled looking men who were being ordered by a pair of soldiers to block of an entrance to something. Arthur's scowl returned and he unsheathed his sword, dismounting from his horse. He marched straight for the soldiers, the Knights following to push them out of the way.

"What is this?" Arthur demanded of one of the men.

"You cannot go in there!" The man replied instantly, "It is forbidden!"

Arthur forced his to move with the point of his sword, while Dagonet and Bors used their horses to keep a protesting Marius at bay. Arthur inspected the walled off entrance, looking it over carefully.

"Arthur, we have no time." Lancelot spoke up.

"Do you not hear the drums?" Galahad added.

Arthur glared at the blocked entrance and turned to Dagonet. Dagonet nodded once and dismounted pulling out his axe. He walked up to the blockade of stones and took his axe to it. Within moments, a wooden door was visible and Dagonet kicked it.

"Key?" Arthur asked one of the guards.

"It's locked." The guard replied, swallowing, "From the inside."

Arthur frowned and looked back just as Dagonet broke through the door. Dagonet took a torch, Arthur took another and they descended into the darkness with Tristan and Gawain following.

* * *

Sorry for a shorter chapter, but I just _had_ to cut it there. _Hope_fully (much finger crossing here) I should have chapter 7 up within the next two weeks. Thank y'all SO much for liking my story and giving me such AWESOME support! I really couldn't do it without y'all:D

**Thanks to my NEW reviewers:** _HappyFace21_, _Soccer-Bitch_, _Rogue-writer-16_ and _S.S. Dailey_. Y'all are SO freaking awesome!

Oh and I just want y'all to know that, before I put up this chapter, it _Nova_ had 3322 hits, 28 reviews, 7 people had it on their faves list, and 29 people had it on their alerts list. I'm glad I mean so much to y'all! Keep reading! Reviewing is really nice, too! -wink--wink--nudge--nudge-

-Anna


	7. Rescue

I'm SO sorry it took me so long to get a chapter out, but it's finally here, y'all! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_Rescue_

"They are here." Lucan's strained voice could barely be heard, even in the tomblike silence of the dungeon. "Arthur is with them."

Guin shuddered, but listened intently, her heart lifting slightly as she tried to hear for sounds of these men whom Lucan had Seen.

--

Arthur led Lancelot, Gawain and Tristan down underground, immediately covering his nose. The smell was horrible. He looked around and was disgusted to see torture devices and the sad remains of people chained to the walls. He could hear someone chanting, intoning a prayer of some sort in Latin and then he saw a man walking towards him. The man was dressed in rags, his dark, graying hair was to his shoulders and was matted horribly. He glared at Arthur and the other Knights with an insane light in his eyes.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" he demanded.

Arthur merely pushed past the man and looked around, shocked at what he was seeing. Dead and decaying bodies lay in holes and cages and hung from chains. Gawain looked to Arthur, who in turn looked around at everyone else.

"See if any are still alive," he commanded them and they all began a search.

Tristan went on along the corridor, and into a different room. Dagonet began lifting grates off of holes and Gawain started cutting through chains, causing other grates to fall so he could see into other places.

"How dare you set foot in this holy place?" the man demanded, grabbing Gawain's arm.

Without blinking, Gawain pulled out his sword and ran the man through, letting him fall to the ground. Arthur looked around the room. Nothing. No one was alive here.

"Arthur." Tristan's quiet voice called from the adjacent room.

Arthur responded to the summons immediately and stopped dead in his tracks when he entered the other room. Tristan was kneeling on the ground, holding an unconscious teenaged girl in his arms.

"By the gods." Gawain whispered, looking over Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur, there's more."

Dagonet walked into the room and went straight to a small cell. He knelt and looked inside at Lucan, who was shivering in the far corner. The healer stood and smashed the lock with his axe. He looked into the cell and offered his hand to the boy, who took it hesitantly. Dagonet pulled Lucan out and cradled him in his strong arms.

"You'll be alright now, lad." Dagonet assured the boy.

The boy only nodded.

Arthur looked into another cell. Guinevere stared back at him through bleary, pain-filled eyes. He stood and smashed the chain, opening up the woman's cell and then helped her out, picking her up in his arms.

After doing a check around the room for any other survivors, Gawain led the small procession back outside. Arthur carried Guin, Dagonet held Lucan and Tristan carried the other girl.

As they emerged from the dungeon, Arthur made an immediate demand for water and Horton came running up with a water sack. Guin looked up at Arthur, slightly scared, and he smiled at her.

"Don't worry," he told her as Marius' wife came running over, "You're safe now."

Tristan carried the other girl over to where his horse was and wrapped her in his spare blanket.

"Stop this!" Marius suddenly shouted, "Stop what you are doing!"

Arthur stood. "What is this madness?!" he demanded.

"They are all pagans here!" Marius fumed.

"So are we." Galahad interjected.

Marius only glared at him and continued, "They refuse to do the task God has set for them. They must die as an example."

"Do you mean they refuse to be your serfs!" Arthur shouted back at him.

Marius looked at him, surprised, "You are a Roman, you understand. And you are a Christian." he turned on his wife, who was kneeling next to Guinevere. "_You!_ You kept her alive!" he swung his hand at her face, knocking her to the ground and then suddenly found himself wrenched off his feet by the front of his tunic. He looked up into the grim face of Gawain.

"How can you claim to be a Christian?" Gawain growled out between clenched teeth, "When you strike a woman who is doing more good than you _ever_ could?"

Gawain pushed Marius back into several soldiers who were standing nearby and pointed his axe at the man. "You even _think_ about touching her like that again and you will be dead before we reach the Wall."

Marius stared, shocked, "She is _my_ wife!"

"Could have fooled me." Gawain spit out, turning to his horse and mounting up, purposely not looking at Marius' wife.

Arthur got the villagers to wall the remaining 'monks' back into their dungeon and they were only too willing to oblige. Once Guin, Lucan and the still unconscious girl were carefully loaded into a wagon, the entire group started out. Tristan rode point, of course, while the villagers and the rest of the Knights followed behind.

Lancelot rode alongside Arthur, a permanent scowl on his face.

"Lancelot, what's bothering you now?" Arthur asked.

"We're moving too slow," Lancelot replied angrily, jerking on his horse's reins a bit too harshly to keep it on track, "The girls aren't going to make it and neither is the boy. The family we can protect, but we're wasting our time with all these people."

"We're not leaving them." Arthur stated flatly.

Lancelot sighed. "If the Saxons find us we will have to fight."

"Then save your anger for them."

Lancelot stared at Arthur, his commander and best friend, trying to discern exactly what Arthur was thinking. "Is this Rome's quest?" he asked after a moment, "Or Arthur's?"

Arthur only stared at him for a moment before looking away, not answering.

Lancelot muttered some choice words under his breath and kicked his horse forward.

The caravan continued on in relative silence, the falling snow making it gradually harder for the wagons. Arthur rode up to the wagon that carried Guin and the other two they'd rescued, dismounting from his horse and entering.

"Arthur." Dagonet acknowledged him as he came in.

"How is he?" Arthur asked, motioning to Lucan.

Dagonet looked at Lucan, who was barely conscious. "He burns and his arm is broken. Brave boy."

Arthur nodded, noting Dagonet's smile, and made his way to the rear of the wagon to where Guinevere lay. He knelt next to her, taking in her dirty, weary and yet somehow wildly beautiful features. He reached out to her and she cringed away from him, eyes wide, scared.

"I will not hurt you," he whispered.

She just stared and then slowly, very slowly, extended her bandaged hand towards him, still remaining silent.

Arthur frowned slightly, gently took her hand in his and began carefully unwrapping the bandages. Once all the bandages were removed, he could see how disfigured her hand was. He ran his fingers lightly over hers and then looked into her pain-filled eyes.

"Some of your fingers are out of place," he told her, "I have to push them back."

Guin blinked, but remained silent.

Arthur took a deep breath and, as gently as he was able, began to push on one of her fingers. She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let it go.

"If I don't do this, there's a chance you may never use that hand again," he informed her.

Her jaw clenched and she sat up, looking at him defiantly.

Again, Arthur began pushing on her finger and she stifled a cry when it popped back into place. He pushed rest of her fingers back to how they were supposed to be, despite her cries, and then held her for the brief moment she allowed him to.

"They tortured me," she whispered hoarsely, looking up at him, "With machines. They'd make me tell them things that…" she paused and shuddered, "that I didn't even know to begin with."

Arthur frowned, but didn't interrupt her.

"And then," she continued, "I heard your voice in the dark. I am Guinevere. You are Arthur."

"I am." Arthur admitted, "But, what about the other girl? What happened to her?"

"They did even worse things to her," Guinevere told him, looking at the unconscious teenager with a sad light in her eyes, "Things I'll never speak of. She sacrificed herself so many times to help the boy and myself."

Arthur stared at the girl for a moment before looking back at Guin. "What is her name?"

"I'll not tell you," Guin shook her head, her eyelids fluttering tiredly, "That is for her to say and no one else."

Arthur nodded and gently laid Guin on the pile of furs. "Rest, Guinevere, you're safe here."

A smile flickered across her face as she drifted off to sleep. Arthur watched her for a moment and then left the tent and mounted his horse, riding up closer to the front of the group. After a few minutes of riding alone, Lancelot came up beside him, but then left just as quickly when he caught Arthur glancing back at Guinevere. Arthur sighed and turned his horse back towards the cart which carried Guin and the others they'd rescued.

"My father told me great tales of you." Guinevere told him as he came riding up.

"Really?" Arthur asked, "And what did you hear?"

"Fairy tales," she said, smiling, "The kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless, that they can't be real. Arthur and his Knights. A leader both Briton and Roman. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome; to those who take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland."

"Listen, lady," Arthur almost glared at her, "Do not pretend you know anything about me or my men."

"How many Britons have you killed?" she asked.

"As many as have tried to kill me," he retorted, "It's the natural state of any man to want to live."

"Animals live!" she argued, "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free in their own country." She paused and then said quietly, "I belong to this country, where do you belong, Arthur?"

Arthur didn't answer her; instead he just glanced at her and asked. "How's your hand?"

Guin smiled. "I'll live, I promise you."

He just nodded and looked away.

After a moment of silence, she asked. "Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart? Your own father married a Briton. Even he must have found something to his liking."

Again Arthur didn't answer. He turned his horse and rode closer to the front, up with Lancelot. Another rather lengthy amount of time passed and soon the signs of a battle began to show. Bodies frozen from the falling snow were strewn about alongside the road. The horses shied away and Lancelot made a face.

"Saxons," Arthur told him and then kicked his horse into a gallop, Lancelot right behind him.

Arthur and the Knights lined up along the road and Arthur pointed to a grove of trees. "We'll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees," he looked at Tristan and nodded.

"You want to go out again?" Tristan asked Hawk, who nodded her head. He gave her a boost and she flew off. The Knights all rode off to their duties and the caravan arrived in the trees within a matter of minutes. Everyone set up their own little spaces within the campsites and Dagonet made a bed for Lucan next to his own.

"Are you alright, lad?" he asked the boy.

Lucan nodded. "Watch Marius," he whispered and then drifted off to sleep.

All the Knights, save Arthur and Tristan, sat around one of the two campfires that had been made, warming their hands and talking amongst themselves.

"I still don't understand why we had to waste our time to save their bloody necks!" Bors was complaining.

"They were innocents being tortured, Bors," Gawain spoke up, "They deserved to be freed."

"But they're damn Woads! All three of them!"

"Only two." Tristan's quiet voice broke the silence after Bors's outburst. "Only two are Woads."

Galahad looked up at the Scout, from where he sat on a log. "Which one's not?"

"The other girl," Tristan replied, walking into the firelight and taking a seat next to Galahad. "Guinevere and the boy are Woad, but the other girl is far from it."

"What's her name?" Lancelot asked.

Tristan shrugged. "She will tell in time."

"But she's not even awake yet," Bors interjected, "How can you know that she's not a Woad?"

The Scout looked at him. "I know."

"You forget, brother," Dagonet spoke up, looking at Bors. "Tristan reads people better than any of us."

Bors snorted and muttered something about not wanting a killer to read anything.

"What is she if not a Woad, Tristan?" Gawain asked, curious. "She's certainly not Roman."

"Or Saxon," Galahad added.

Tristan was paying attention to a small carving in his hands.

"What's that?" Bors demanded, pointing to the carving.

Tristan didn't reply, just turned the carving over and over in his hands.

"May I look at it, Trist?" Dagonet asked.

Tristan nodded and tossed him the carving, pulling out an apple from the depths of his clothing and cutting a large piece off with his knife.

"It's Sarmatian," Dagonet told them and looked to Tristan. "Did you make this?" the healer asked, knowing how his silent friend was fond of carving things.

The Scout shook his head. "It belongs to her."

* * *

Author's Note: Don't hate me for ending it there. Please. I couldn't resist.

Oh and by the way, something I've noticed that's really bugging me... There were 35 reviews and 5,035 hits on this story before I added this chapter. ONLY 35 reviews is all I get after having over 5,000 hits? Come ON people, it's not that difficult to tell me what you think of the story! I mean 44 people have this story on their alert list, but I don't even have 44 reviews. Not that I'm complaining about the reviews I already have; I can't thank my reviewers enough (especially considering how sparse they are) but I'd really like to see alot more people giving their opinion.

Anyway, I'm done ranting. Expect another chapter relatively soon(ish).  
-Anna


	8. Meet the Saxons

**Chapter Eight**

_Meet the Saxons_

Silence reigned after Tristan's quiet explanation, complete silence except for the sound of the Scout munching on his apple.

"She's a _what_?!" Bors practically yelled, shocked.

"You heard him, brother," Dagonet said, looking up from the carving in his hands.

Gawain looked at Bors, and Dagonet could see a smirk on his face. "Aren't you glad we saved her _now_, Bors?"

Bors spluttered something unintelligible and then stood up. "I need a drink," he muttered and went off to find his saddlebags.

Lancelot laughed and Dagonet looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Is something funny, Lancelot?"

Lancelot shook his head, smiling. "I just think it's rather entertaining, Bors's reactions to things." He stood and yawned, "I'm going to sleep now," he smiled suddenly, "Remind me to talk to that girl tomorrow."

Tristan narrowed his brown eyes at Lancelot and bit rather viciously into his apple, but remained silent.

"You'll not go near her, Lance," Dagonet told him, "Tristan's the one who found her and I'm the only healer, therefore you have no reason to approach her for anything."

Lancelot snorted. "You two just don't like letting me have any fun."

"Go on, Lance," Dagonet waved him off, "And leave the women alone."

Lancelot laughed and went off to his bedroll.

Gawain and Galahad wandered off to their own beds leaving Dagonet and Tristan on their own by the fire.

"I feel sorry for them," Dagonet commented after a few minutes of silence.

Tristan looked at him, taking a bite of his apple and waiting for the healer to keep speaking.

"They don't understand," Dagonet continued, "They overlook so many things and when someone else, someone more perceptive to the little things, mentions something they didn't notice, they ostracize them."

Tristan stared at Dagonet for a long moment and then slowly nodded, taking another bite of his apple.

Dagonet smiled slightly and stood. "You know I actually care what you have to say, when you choose to speak, Tristan. Arthur cares about all of us more than he'll openly show," he dropped the girl's carving into Tristan's hand, "Try and get some sleep tonight, Trist, I know it doesn't come easily to you, but try."

A very brief smile flickered across the Scout's face as he looked from the carving in his hand to his friend's face.

"Goodnight, Trist." Dagonet walked over and settled down in his bed, keeping his sword at hand.

Sometime around midnight a very slight noise caught Tristan's attention. The Scout, who had remained at the fireside long after the others had gone to bed, stood and drew his bow, nocking an arrow to its string. That was when he saw her. Guinevere was walking nearly silently at the edge of the camp. She passed by Arthur and he woke with a start, standing to follow her into the surrounding trees. Tristan watched them for a moment before deciding to follow at a safe distance. His bow was still drawn; something didn't quite sit right with him.

Tristan watched as Guinevere led Arthur a ways into the woods and then stopped in a small clearing. The Scout could see that Arthur looked slightly confused as he approached Guinevere. Arthur opened his mouth to say something when there was a brief rustle amongst the trees. He jumped back, drawing his sword; Tristan, hidden in some shrubbery, aimed his bow at the man who suddenly appeared. It was Merlin.

"You betrayed me." Arthur accused Guinevere.

"He means you no harm," she replied calmly.

"Peace between us this night, Arthur Castus." Merlin called out to Tristan's Commander and started down the slight incline, coming closer to Guinevere and Arthur.

Tristan kept his bow aimed for Merlin's heart, even as he noticed how apprehensive Arthur had become.

"So Rome is leaving, the Saxon has come," Merlin continued speaking, "The world we have known and fought for is ended. Now we must make a new world."

"Your world, Merlin, not mine," Arthur's sword didn't waver as he pointed it towards the old Woad, "I will be in Rome."

"To find peace?" Merlin asked, "The Saxons will come to Rome."

"My Knights trust me not to betray them to their enemy." Tristan could hear the authoritative tone in Arthur's voice.

"Rome was my enemy," the old man replied, "Not Arthur. We have no fight between us now."

"You tell that to the Knights you killed before my eyes," Arthur spit out bitterly, "whose bones are buried in this earth."

"We have all lost brothers." Merlin told him quietly.

"You know nothing of the loss I speak!" Arthur shouted. Tristan could hear his Commander take a deep breath and continue speaking, his voice quavering ever so slightly. "Shall I help you remember? An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman. Your men attacked my village, walled my mother into our own house and lit it on fire. I called out her name, but she couldn't hear me, so I did the only other thing possible. I ran to the burial mound of my father to free her." He glared at Merlin, placing the tip of his sword at the Woad's throat, "To kill you. With my father's sword in hand I ran back into our village, only to see that every Woad had gone and our house was all but destroyed. I feel the heat of that fire on my face even now."

Tristan lowered his bow, eyes wide, his face showing emotion for the first time in many years. He'd had no idea what Arthur had gone through, just like none of the other Knights knew what _he_ had gone through. _'You and I are not so different after all,'_ the Scout thought to himself.

"I did not wish your mother dead." Merlin said to Arthur, "She was of our blood, as are you."

"If you were so determined to leave us to slaughter," Guinevere spoke up, looking at Arthur, "why did you save so many?"

Arthur didn't answer and Tristan could see the confusion and indecision on his Commander's face. He watched as Arthur lowered his sword.

"My men are strong, but they have need of a true leader." Merlin explained, "They believe you can do anything. To defeat the Saxon we need a master of war." The old Woad walked over to stand beside Guinevere, pointing to Arthur's sword, "That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth, forged in the fires of Britain. It was love of your mother that freed the sword from your father's grave, not hatred of me. _Love_, Arthur."

"It is your destiny," Guinevere spoke up again.

"There is no destiny," Arthur retorted, "Only free will."

"And what of the free will of your Knights?" Merlin asked as Arthur started to walk away, "Did they die in vain?"

As Arthur stopped in his tracks, Tristan could see his shoulders shaking slightly, but his Commander remained silent, refusing to answer, and trudged back to the camp.

Tristan remained in the trees, wanting to watch Guinevere and Merlin. Once Arthur was out of sight, Merlin embraced Guin, murmuring. "I thought I'd lost you, daughter."

Tristan could see her smile as she replied. "I never gave up hope that I would be rescued."

Merlin suddenly looked up, straight into Tristan's eyes. "Come out into the moonlight, sir Scout."

Tristan stepped out from the trees, still holding his bow at his side. He kept his distance from the two Woads, eyeing Merlin suspiciously.

"Arthur couldn't have chosen a better man to be his Scout," Merlin commented as he took his Tristan's appearance and attitude. "I understand your silence and I commend you for making it this far. Yours is not a life chosen by many, but you do well."

Tristan just stared at him, standing lightly on the balls of his feet, like a deer ready to run at the slightest hint of danger.

"I have plans to attend to, daughter," Merlin told Guinevere, taking a step back. "I will see you again soon."

Guinevere and Tristan both watched Merlin disappear into the trees.

"Why do you not speak?" Guin asked Tristan after Merlin was gone.

Tristan gave her a sidelong glance as he put his arrow back into its quiver, but stayed silent.

"I know you are able to speak," she told him, "yet you choose not to. Why?"

"I am beneath them," the Scout stated simply, "They have no need to listen."

Guin stared at him. "You are above them, Sir Tristan, so far above them. You know so much more than you give yourself credit for. You watch everything around you and, if you so chose, you could easily be the talk of the country. Don't let how others treat you define who you are."

The Scout looked at her, truly looked at her for the briefest of moments, and then turned away and walked off, silent as ever.

Guinevere frowned and made her way back to the cart where her bed was.

--

Tristan was the only one to watch the sun rise the next morning. The sky was lit brightly with various shades of red, orange, and yellow and he looked at Hawk, who was perched on his arm.

"Bad omen, girl," he whispered, "There is a red sky this morning."

The Scout turned and looked down at the camp from the small hill he was on. Hawk started squirming just as Tristan noticed movement from some of the Roman soldiers in the camp. About half a dozen of them were making their way towards where Dagonet and Lucan were sleeping. Tristan let Hawk fly. As much as he wanted to see what was going on in the camp, he knew he had a scouting job to do. He mounted his horse and rode off through the trees.

Dagonet was jerked from his sleep by several Roman soldiers who pulled him to his feet none too gently.

"No!" Lucan yelled as the soldiers began to strike at Dagonet.

But Dagonet started fighting back. The healer knocked down two of the soldiers and then pulled out the knife that he always had in a small sheath on his thigh. But it was already too late.

"I have the boy!" Marius shouted. He had his arm around Lucan and a knife to the boy's throat.

Marius's wife and son stared in horror, unsure of what to do.

"Kill him!" Marius shouted at the soldiers, "Kill him now!"

The soldiers began closing in on Dagonet, who was looking around, baffled.

"No! Don't do this!" Marius's wife ran towards her husband, trying to make him let go of Lucan.

Marius just pushed her roughly aside where Gawain caught her, preventing her from falling.

Just then an arrow came flying from the trees, hitting Marius in the chest. He let go of Lucan and fell back, staring at the arrow as his eyes darkened. Lucan ran straight to Dagonet as soon as he was able and Dagonet gently pushed the boy behind him, reaching for his sword. "Stay down, Lucan," the healer told the boy.

The soldiers were hesitant now that Marius was dead and as Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, and Arthur came up, they lowered their swords slightly. That was when Dagonet noticed the figure standing in the trees.

There she stood, longbow in hand, another arrow ready on its string. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her pale face showing no emotion whatsoever.

"Artorius!" Bors's shout echoed around the campsite as he came galloping in. "Do we have a problem?" Bors demanded of the soldiers, edging his horse closer to them, his axe in full view and ready to be used.

"You have a choice," Arthur told the soldiers, pointing his sword at them, "You help or you die."

One of the soldiers dropped his sword and then looked around at the others. "Drop your weapons."

They hesitated.

"Drop them!" the soldier shouted.

The other soldiers obeyed this time, all of them tossing their swords into a pile. Jols went through and gathered up all the weapons just as Tristan rode up.

"How many did you kill?" Bors asked the Scout.

"Four," Tristan replied. He stopped his horse in front of Arthur and dropped a Saxon crossbow at his Commander's feet. "Armor piercing," he told Arthur.

"They're close, then," Gawain spoke up, "We have no time."

"You ride ahead," Arthur commanded Tristan.

The Scout nodded and was about to ride off when he noticed the figure in the trees. The two stared at each other for a moment; the silent Scout and the grim archer. Something indiscernible flickered in Tristan's brown eyes and he kept eye contact for just a moment longer before riding off to scout ahead.

As the other Knights went off to get the villagers moving, Dagonet walked up to the figure.

"Are you sure you're well enough to be out?" he asked her.

She just stared at him and nodded once, strands of her long black hair falling in front of her face.

"You saved my life," he told her, "I have no way of repaying you."

"You already have," she informed him quietly, "You rescued me."

Dagonet shook his head. "I did not. Tristan did."

She looked at him, tilting her head to the side.

"The Scout," he explained, "The one with the hawk, he's the one who rescued you."

She nodded and then looked around at the camp.

Dagonet reached out to lightly trace a scar on her forehead and she flinched away from his hand, taking a step away and eyeing him distrustfully, much like a captured wild animal.

"What's your name?" the healer asked.

She looked at him with a bright green gaze. "Nova."

"Well, I'm glad you're doing better, Nova, but you should get back to the cart, we're about to head out."

Nova nodded once and started walking towards the wagon. Dagonet watched her walk away for a moment, wondering how she'd come to be in Britain. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at Lucan.

"She'll get used to people," the boy told him, "It'll take her a while but she'll open up more."

Dagonet knelt in front of Lucan and looked him in the eye. "How do you know that, Lucan?"

Lucan blinked once and looked at Dagonet with his sky blue eyes. "I can See the future," he replied quietly, "But I don't tell many people that."

Dagonet smiled. "I have nothing against that, Lucan. It's a gift for you to use to the best of your ability. Use it for good and no harm will come of it."

Lucan smiled back and impulsively hugged the healer. "Thank you… for everything," he whispered.

Dagonet stood up, lifting Lucan in his arms and sat him on his horse. "You are more than welcome, Lucan."

The healer cleaned up what little belongings he'd brought, packed them onto his horse and then swung up behind Lucan, kicking his horse towards the other Knights.

Nova was almost to the wagon when she heard a low cry from Hawk. She looked up just in time to see the bird drop something small. She caught it instantly and stared at it. It was her carving. The girl looked up at the bird, who was now perched on a nearby branch.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

Hawk ruffled her wings, giving the impression of a shrug, and then took off, soaring back to her friend the Scout.

Nova watched the bird for a moment and then turned back to the wagon and climbed inside, going to sit in the darkest corner where no one would bother her. She clutched the carving in her hand, running her thumb over the intricate grooves. She'd thought she'd lost it but now she had it back. Why had he given it up? And why had he even taken it to begin with. She had no memory of anyone ever taking it from her. She frowned ever so slightly and looked out through a crack in the wood, paying attention to everything she could see.

The entire group started forward, along the road and within minutes they reached a large frozen over lake. Nova heard the command to halt and she peered out of the wagon. The Knights were all riding forward, talking about crossing the ice. Soon enough the command was given to everyone to get out of their wagons and spread out across the ice. Everyone obeyed, but the going was slow and the horses were nervous. About two-thirds of the way across the ice, drums started to sound, making the horses even more nervous. The drums echoed off the surrounding trees and hills.

Nova watched as Arthur called the group to a halt and she listened closely. It sounded as though all the Knights were staying to fight the approaching Saxon army. She reached for the bow she'd borrowed and the quiver and made her way out of the wagon. Glancing back she could see Guinevere following her out with her own bow and quiver.

"But you're seven against two hundred!" Ganis objected.

Guin and Nova looked at each other and Nova nodded. "Nine," Guinevere spoke up as she and Nova walked up to the Knights, "You could use two more bows."

Arthur looked at them both and nodded. "So be it."

"Dagonet," Lucan looked down at the Knight who had just dismounted, "You can't stay."

"Why not, Lucan?" the healer asked.

"You'll be killed," the boy replied in a whisper.

Dagonet stared at him and then whispered back. "If my death saves Arthur and the rest of you, then I will go willingly."

Lucan glanced over at Nova and then looked back at Dagonet. "As long as she stays, you all should be fine."

Dagonet nodded. "Take care of my horse now, Lucan, I'll be only a few minutes."

Lucan managed a smile as Jols led the horse away with him atop it. The caravan moved out, going the only safe way they could and leaving the Knights, Nova, and Guinevere behind.

Dagonet picked up his own bow and stood in a line with the others, waiting for the Saxons to come.

"Hold until I give the command," Arthur told them.

The Saxon army was in full view now and Dagonet glanced around him at his friends, his brothers. His gaze stopped briefly at Nova and he allowed a small smile to appear on his face. The girl had strength; that much was certain. He looked away when she caught him looking at her and he took a deep breath. If he was going to die, as Lucan had said, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. The healer only hoped that he would be able to save all the others in the process.

The drums stopped and the Knights waited for Arthur's command.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, I hope y'all enjoyed the next chapter. I'm seriously on a writing rampage here. I mean two chapters written and posted within the space of two days. Pretty cool if you ask me. Anyway, I'm working on chapter nine, thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope more people keep telling me what they think.  
Until next time...  
-Anna  
p.s.- I think this is the longest chapter yet!


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